


Krajka

by Arithanas



Series: A Huckleberry Above My Persimmon [9]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gratuitous Czech, Journaling, M/M, Mental Health Issues, No Healing Cock, Protective Eliot Spencer, Quinn's side of things, Therapy (Attempted), smut in the second chapter, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27999327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: Quinn has been fighting depression alone, trying to make sense of his life lately. Then, Eliot Spencer crashed in the middle of it.Things inside his head are already as complex as they can be without mending turning into whitework embroidery.
Relationships: Mr. Quinn/Eliot Spencer (Leverage)
Series: A Huckleberry Above My Persimmon [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607185
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey”

The message flashed on the screen, Quinn read it, sighed, and clutched Fair Prize to hide his tears. For a moment, Quinn wished he had taken his therapist's advice and medicated his unruly mind. Quinn submitted to the chemicals when he was a kid, and they made his early teenage years hell. Therapy worked better then and Quinn was gambling on it again.

The message had faded by the time he got his tears in check. Quinn sat on the bed, with his bear between his arms. His bedroom was dark, but he could see the streetlights of the city, and he let the beauty bathe him. Prague was as beautiful as ever, but something was off, something was missing.

Quinn got up from the bed and laid his beloved Fair Prize against the pillows with care. Quinn went to the closet, took a clean set of pajamas, and moved to the bathroom. A quick leak and a long shower later, he felt a lot better. He turned on the light and sat on the bed to scribble on his little pocketbook. His therapist had recommended journaling to try to make sense of what was going through his head. If Quinn was not willing to dope himself up to dull the pain, he had to be very religious with his therapy. After he scribbled his lines, the thought of getting something to eat crossed his mind, but he knew the state of his pantry and got up again.

Prague was beautiful. Quinn opened the crystal door and walked to the small balcony. It was his nightly ritual by now: shower, balcony, contemplate the idea of jumping off, get angry at the idea, curse his father's name, and find a reason to live to see the next day. Silly as it was, there was a day when thinking of Fair Prize’s fate after his demise stopped Quinn from taking the last fall. He must be getting better because new ideas came quicker each day.

Today, he was living to read another ‘hey’ on his phone screen.

_\--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--_

Their client stopped talking and sat on that easy chair Saša reserved for their clients. The day was bright behind Antonín. Their client looked remarkably calm. Too calm. Their client's declaration hung between them. If his concern over a stuffed toy stopped him from acting on his dark thoughts, that was an improvement.

“Why was your teddy bear’s fate so important?”

Saša pulled up their skirt, crossed their legs, and composed a neutral face. They toyed with their clipboard out of habit. It was the fourth session and their new client, Antonín, was making progress. Their client admitted in the first session he was having the recurring idea of ‘ending it all’—his words. Antonín refused pharmacological support, but he was open to trying other techniques. Journaling had helped him, but Saša would rest easier if their client had a more robust support net. So far, Antonín’s support net was a boyfriend on the other side of the world and his teddy bear...

“Because I love Fair Prize,” Antonín mumbled like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why?” Saša asked again, they knew Antonín would present a token of symbolic resistance.

“It’s a symbol: it’s a thing that went unloved for so long and only I can love it.”

“Why do you think it went unloved?”

“It had to!” Antonín rushed to reply and Saša could breathe a bit easier. Antonín’s rushed answers were always a good sign. “They put Fair Prize so high and demanded such an arbitrary and high price. Only an exceptional man like my boyfriend could save it!”

“Why do you think your teddy bear needed saving?”

“It was lonely…”

Antonín’s voice trailed off. Another good sign. The best thing about their new client was that he was not afraid of crying when he needed to relieve pressure. In Saša’s experience, LGBTQIA clients seldom were. Their client was trying to stop his tears with his hands. Saša looked at the tissue box between them and wondered why their client hadn't reached for it. Without a word, Saša pinned their pen on their vest and extended their hand toward the tissue box.

“You are crying, Antonín,” Saša said and offered his client a box of tissue. “What happened?”

“I saw the connection,” Antonín exclaimed between sobs and hiccups as he took the box.

Saša nodded and sat back, giving Antonín time and space to blow his nose and dab his eyes. As quick as he was to cry, he was to control it once he began to see the light. Saša knew it was a matter of minutes and patience was a resource they had in plenty.

“Fair Prize was as lonely as I was until Eliot came into my life.” Antonín tried to explain, but his voice cracked again. “And I was lonely because Father expected a lot from me because he thought of me as a bait to lure stupid people in and put too much pressure for me to follow his lead and I didn’t want to because that’s not something people could understand and there was no one I could talk to and... and...”

“Well, we need to take a step back and try to unravel all those ideas you had…”

It was always a pleasure to work with a client who was willing to make an effort.

_\--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--_

Quinn looked at Prague, it was as beautiful as ever. It was such a shame he felt so despondent right now. Prague at night, under the rain was more dazzling and charming than Paris ever was…

The rain was drumming against the rail. Quinn was folded against a corner between the glass wall of his room and the concrete wall that held the weight of his balcony. He cradled Fair Prize against his chest and heard the rainfall.

The phone Eliot gave him was safe between Quinn’s back and the angle both walls made. A while ago, Quinn had walked toward the balcony to toss it over the rail in a fit of rage. Eliot sent a message, but the screen didn’t flash ‘hey’ this time; Eliot had wished Quinn ‘happy birthday’.

Happy birthday…

Quinn couldn’t have a happy birthday since he learned, at the tender age of five, that he shared the most important date of his life with the epic _sunuvavič_ Heinrich Luitpold Himmler. Even five years after the fact, Quinn’s father was still elated because his firstborn was born on such an auspicious date and Quinn knew he was the least important thing in the issue. From that day on, Quinn knew that ‘happy birthday’ was one of those things that were just not for him.

Quinn had a crying bout under the rain and cornered himself in the balcony who knows how long ago. His mind danced madly between destroying Eliot’s phone, crying until dehydration killed him, or speeding it up by jumping the rail. Quinn’s mind was playing tricks with him…

It must be that.

Quinn stifled a convulsive sob against Fair Prize’s embrace and forced himself to think. Just think… think about the raindrops dancing on top of his naked toes. Think about Prague’s beauty, and about a man on the other side of the world who was happy Quinn had even been born.

For Eliot Spencer, the date was only memorable because Quinn existed. Quinn couldn’t recall if anyone else in the world made that connection before.

“Fair Prize, I think I’m loved…” Quinn informed his teddy bear with the last sobs of his crying fit.

Fair Prize didn’t reply, but its head fell to the side, and Quinn tilted his head to meet those dull, plastic eyes. A smile danced in the corners of his mouth; a toy was still a source of discovery for him. Quinn hugged the teddy bear and closed his eyes. Going through his photo album, he willed his mind to recall Eliot’s arms around his chest. Quinn could even recall the glorious aroma of his skin. The day Fair Prize came to his life was the same day Eliot kissed him on the Ferris wheel.

Finally, Quinn got up, feeling each of his joints stiff. He had the phone in one hand and Fair Prize sitting on his hip. As he closed the sliding door behind him, Quinn realized he needed to wash his face and a fresh pair of pajamas. After he washed his face, he sat on his bed, Fair Prize by his side, and wrote down what happened. His therapist never asked Quinn to show his journal, but he wanted to be ready in case he… she… _Saša_ made a question. After he finished his note, he checked the phone.

“You’ll get through this rough patch,” Eliot wrote and Quinn read with bated breath. “Next year, we will celebrate your birthday together.”

Quinn closed his eyes and fought the cognitive distortion that hit him. Of course, Eliot wasn’t just being nice: Eliot usually meant what he said. Of course, Eliot wasn’t taunting him, nor he was implying something sinister. In their line of work, people don’t telegraph their intentions if they could help it. Eliot was making a promise.

A promise he intended to keep.

He was counting on Quinn to be alive next year.

“You have my word.”

“You have mine,” Quinn told the phone screen. At the moment, he wanted nothing more than to survive this horrible time.

An impulse seized Quinn, and he looked for Eliot’s number and dialed it. He didn’t even have the time to catastrophize the situation before Eliot replied.

“Hey…”

It has been almost sixty days since Quinn had that rich baritone caressing his ears. Eliot’s voice came from the other side of the world, he sounded so near and Quinn felt the tears threatening to spill. Quinn had never known how much he had missed Eliot’s slow, soothing cadence.

“Hey…”

Silence at the other side of the line, long enough for Quinn to reach for Fair Prize and to hug it with apprehension.

“You don’t sound like you are having a good day…” Eliot’s voice sounded cautious but warm. His steps made a sound against metal.

“I had had better,” Quinn admitted and, after a long sigh, he added. “I’m going to therapy.”

“I was hoping you did,” Eliot said and the sound of a door opening accompanied his words. “Quinn, you are the strongest man I know… please, keep fighting.”

“Thank you for the lie…”

“I know your parents,” Eliot refuted and Quinn could see the half-smile inside his mind. “I wouldn’t have reached the ripe age of what? Thirty?”

“I’m twenty-nine today.”

“May you live another twenty-nine and may I spend some...” Eliot stopped in the middle of his delivery of good wishes. “Just a second.”

Eliot put Quinn on hold without waiting for an answer. Quinn blinked surprised because Eliot was the man who answered his calls even in the middle of a job.

“Sorry,” Eliot apologized as soon as he returned to the call. “I hope you are visible because someone is going to knock at your door soon.”

“What did you do?”

“Wouldn’t you want to know?”

Quinn got up off the bed, and he barely had time to toss a robe over his shoulders before the doorbell rang. Phone against the ear, Quinn attended the call. On his way to the door, he muttered some selected Czech curses that drowned Eliot’s chuckle. Quinn opened the door and there was Dalimil—That man had no right to be so gorgeous!—the building security chief, with a huge bouquet of orange roses and two boxes.

“Do you like it?” Eliot asked eagerly. He would be way cooler if he was standing next to Quinn.

“Just a second,” Quinn grumbled. The bouquet Dalimil was offering him passed to his arms and he got out of the way.

Dalimil put the boxes on top of Quinn’s kitchen counter and turned around to leave. Quinn could see a big smile on that man’s face. That smile said ‘someone’s being spoiled’. Quinn nodded, acknowledging that he was, indeed, being spoiled rotten.

“ _Všechno nejlepší k narozeninám!_ ” Dalimil wished before walking to the door. 

“ _Děkuji mnohokrát!_ ” Quinn acknowledged the good wishes and closed the door behind Dalimil.

Eagerly, Quinn walked to the boxes. One box showed the logo from that _lahůdky_ Quinn had taken Eliot to the last time he was in Prague. Curiosity, always a bad adviser, made Quinn take a peek inside. The box contained six savory open-faced sandwiches, some with beetroot spread. Eliot remembered his order and tossed in a huge slice of chocolate mousse cake for good measure. The other box was a red Leonidas chocolate box with a big white ribbon. Quinn knew the brand from his childhood days and his first thefts. Eliot bought chocolates by the pound and that fact made Quinn smile.

“Well…” Eliot insisted when the silence became too long.

“You didn’t need to,” Quinn looked at the feast in front of him. “I only needed you to say one thing for this to be the happiest birthday of my life…”

“Hap…”

“Don’t be silly….” Quinn warned and wondered where he put the nice Bohemian glass vase. He had bought it in hopes of this occasion.

“ _Miluji te_.”

Quinn looked at the city through the panoramic window of his living room. With his arms full of flowers, he vowed to be there next year. Eliot would make his thirtieth birthday as good as this one.

He had promised it...

_\--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--_

“Hey,” Eliot's message on Quinn’s screen said, “how are you doing today?”

Quinn rocked to the rhythm of the tram car and wished hard Eliot had not made that question. Things were far from doing well today. The fact that he had to take public transportation was proof enough. Selling his Mercedes hurt, but it was worse when he had to make do without his cufflink collection and other assorted jewelry. Money was tight, tighter than it should be, but he had maintenance quotes to pay. Winter was coming, and living in a flat in a high tower without heat was far from ideal.

If Quinn reaches March next year, he has a chance. His regular doctor said they couldn’t rush Quinn’s heart: it was healing at its rhythm and it was slow. More medicine, more rest, with some added moderate activity.

Quinn was sure Saša and his regular doctor shared notes. They both encouraged Quinn to get back to do some exercise the same week. This was an unavoidable expense; Quinn had sold some of his suits online. It was an easy sale, but hurt almost as much as selling his car.

“I’m surviving,” Quinn replied and rested his head against the window.

Quinn felt angry and cheated. He missed his old life and hated each moment of this new reality where his father forced him to just survive. The old question about the value of comfort assaulted Quinn, and he missed Fair Prize’s presence. To supply that absence, Quinn lifted his gym bag and hugged it.

“Anything I can do to help you?”

Quinn sighed, got up, and hung his gym bag from his shoulder. The tram stopped. Quinn climbed down and trotted the short block to his old pole dancing studio.

“Wish me luck,” Quinn texted back.

Quinn stopped in front of that Indian restaurant. The three-story cream painted building hadn't changed. Quinn had spent many happy hours there once the owners understood he was not trying to hook up. They usually had some basmati and palak paneer after class and they missed him. He had become their best gay friend. Pavla’s voice sounded so thrilled when Quinn called to ask if he could join a class. 

The pause did him some harm. The deli on the street level was still working. Any other day Quinn would have bought a big steak after class and bought a good red wine bottle to make it justice. He liked to walk west down Nuselká street and get something sweet to nibble with a movie. He hated feeling so poor… _being_ so poor...

“Why?”

Classic Eliot: never doing a thing without knowing the last of it.

“I’m going back to the pole,” Quinn replied and crossed the street.

Quinn walked right through the door between the butcher shop and the cafeteria. The cool, dark passage was short. Quinn climbed up the stairs and tried to get in the mood to get sweaty when his phone vibrated again. It was Eliot wishing him good luck. Quinn ignored the message. He accepted the greetings and the compliments for his lean body as graciously as he could. The wave of self-pity almost made him lose his smile.

A quick dash into the changing room was enough to get him inside his shorts and t-shirt. He packed his street suit on the gym bag and stuffed it into one of the lockers. It was then he remembered to take a look at his phone.

“Take a video!”

Quinn let out an exasperated grunt.

“ _What is it?_ ” One of the couches asked.

“ _My boyfriend_ …” Quinn replied and tossed his phone over the gym bag before closing the door. “ _He wants video_.”

“ _If you are still in shape!_ ” She conceded and touched Quinn’s arm. “ _Come._ ”

Quinn smiled and followed her to the poles. Maybe Saša was onto something because Quinn felt a rush at the camaraderie.

_\--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--_

Quinn leaned back on his mountain of pillows and laughed as he had not laughed in months. Eliot—his sweet boyfriend—had answered Quinn’s question. Despite how embarrassing the story was, Eliot shared his first same-sex experience.

“It worked great for a handjob!” Eliot protested and those words made Quinn laugh again.

The last two days have been great. Quinn was not ready to climb up the pole, but he had advanced to harder flexibility exercises. His home was nice and cozy, the outside was nippy and Quinn was using Fair Prize as a pillow and not as a shield. On days like these, Quinn was sure he made the right choice when he chose not to take the drugs.

“I’ve missed your laughter,” Eliot commented when Quinn let out a sigh of relief.

“I miss _you_ ,” Quinn pointed out, and then, without even thinking, he added: “I miss your cock…”

Silence at the other side of the line. Quinn sat on the bed, wondering what was the thing that made Eliot shut up. The silence was never a thing Quinn wanted, it reminded him of his childhood.

“I think I’m ready,” Quinn mumbled into the phone. “If you ever…”

“You are not ready,” Eliot interrupted before Quinn could end his invitation. “I bet you still feel it every time you sit on the white throne.”

Quinn wished he could reply with a negative, but he couldn’t. His healing wounds still caused him discomfort, but that didn’t matter. Quinn got mad.

“Who are you to tell?” _Who are you to tell me I’m broken until you say so? Who gave you the right?_ “I know my body!”

“You _knew_ your body before…” Eliot made a hesitant pause, but he continued, “ _they_ did a number on you. I won’t let you use me to hurt yourself!”

“Fuck you…” _I’m not trying to hurt myself! My body hurts me enough and my mind is the worst offender. I don’t need you to feel pain: I have enough of it!_

“What?!”

“You heard me!” Quinn spat, finished the conversation, and tossed the phone to the other side of the bed.

 _He didn’t tear my flesh beyond hope_ , Quinn thought to himself as he pulled Fair Prize unto his lap. The tears in his eyes stung, but Quinn refused to let them drop. _I’m not broken beyond repair_ … The phone rang and Quinn ignored it. He had other things to think about and Eliot Spencer could stew in his bile for all Quinn care. _He didn’t break me and neither would you_ …

Quinn cradled Fair Prize’s head as the phone rang.

_\--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--_

“...believe he didn’t want to take my invitation,” Antonín said, extending his hands in despair. “It’s an honest-to-God all-you-can-fuck buffet here!” 

Saša nodded and tried to keep a reassuring yet neutral facial expression. Their client was raving about the single manic thought in his mind for the last two sessions, which, in ordinary circumstances, would be perfectly well with them. The problem with this single obsession was that it was in the way of all his other problems. 

Antonín had admitted he was having ‘trouble adjusting after trauma’—his words. It was obvious he was a returning client: he knew how to communicate with a professional. After the first sessions covering what trauma was their client processing, Saša began to wonder why he hadn’t touched the violence that was inflicted on him or the breach of his reproductive rights. 

“What I need right now it’s an assurance, you know? Am I…? I _AM_ as fuckable as I was before May this year. If the mirror is not lying, I’m even more fuckable than I was.” Another pause before Antonín tossed his head back and let his hand run through this hair. “I need a good fuck!”

“You have told me you two are not monogamous.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Antonín asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his thighs.

“You can find your reassurance with another willing partner.” 

Antonín looked at Saša like they had three heads. Then he sat back, and his eyes shifted to the side. Their client opened his mouth as he was about to add something, then sighed and his shoulders dropped.

“I can’t let him win.”

“Who?” Saša inquired because every word mattered during a therapy session. “Eliot?”

“My father,” Antonín clarified with a deep mournful tone before he rose from the chair to move to the window. “He hurt me _in this precise way_ to break us.” He kept talking and Saša noticed their client had wrapped his arms around his chest: Their client was signaling he needed comfort. “He can’t have this too. I _refuse_ to give up Eliot. I can’t let him win.”

“Maybe…” Saša started with all the prudence they could muster. If they were reading the situation right, their client needed to ascertain their support network before he could advance. “If that’s what you need to address your repressed anger against your father, maybe you and Eliot need to work on your intimacy…”

_\--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--_

Quinn grunted and rested his back against that bench on that park in Karlín. The shadow of the Church of Saints Cyril and Methodius was small. It would never reach him, yet Quinn’s mind wandered back to religion.

Quinn never experienced religion. Most of the people in his line of work either fell out of it or had a complicated relationship with it. Quinn often wondered if his life would have been better or harder if his mother tried to instill some religious belief in him. Quinn was a man without faith and trust most of the days.

Saša had asked Quinn to take a leap-of-faith…

Quinn had homework. If there was anything he hated more than hearing the taunts of the other kids about his mom’s movies, it was homework.

Call Eliot. Talk about what you want. Get what you want.

Quinn looked at the rose window of the old building and hunched. It was silly to turn his eyes to the church when his brain was stewing with sin.

 _Well, Eliot, you see…?_ Quinn rehearsed the call in his mind. _I’m feeling much, much better and I think I can handle a little action. Hear me out. I’m not asking for a merciless pounding. Yes, I’m fully aware of the damage my body took. But handjobs are sex, and blowjobs are sex, and… yes, a bit of heavy petting would be enough. Can I count on you to come to visit me when you are in Europe?_

Ugh, it sounded moronic. Quinn pulled the leg of his suit and crossed his legs, extending his arms on the back of the bench. The sun caressed his face, and Quinn forced his mind to think.

 _Eliot, I need to tell you something,_ Quinn started his conversation again. _It’s not about sex. Yes I miss your cock and I miss your arms and I miss the way you felt heavy against my back, but it’s not that. Though if I can have that back that would be a bonus… Where was I? I’m… I’m scared you would never see me as you saw me once. I miss the way you looked at me with pride. I was strong enough to duke it out with you and walk away with only a broken rib and some bruises. I’m afraid you are looking at me like I’m weak… I think I lost a lot of value in your eyes and I want._..

Quinn rolled his eyes because that sounded even worse. This needed another approach...

 _I had been working hard on my therapy, drahoušku_ , Quinn started again and got up from the bench. _I want to share with you what’s going through my mind, can I? Oh… this is hard, please be patient with me. I’m scared my father’s actions had driven a wedge between us. I know you know these wounds and how they heal. I’m healing, but I need to know you know that too. That I’ll be the man you love again._ Quinn turned the corner and walked to the red metro line, his hand already caressing the phone. _I’ll be strong again, I’ll be_ ** _dangerous_** _again. Right now, I can’t prove it to you, but you can help me believe it. Please, stop going around me like I’m going to break. No, I love the attention, but I don’t need special care. We started this thing we have going like a physical affair. I miss the lust I stirred on you; it made me feel like I could shatter mountains. Please, be honest, do you still want to fuck me?_

Quinn looked around him, there were little people around him. This was as good a time as any to talk to Eliot. He took his phone out and dialed it.

“Hey…” Eliot mumbled their usual greeting on the phone. He sounded groggy and Quinn realized that he might have woken him up. “What did the ‘shrink say?”

“Ouch,” Quinn complained flatly. That particular word rubbed salt on the wound. Shame was still stinging him because he forgot Eliot was on the other side of the planet. “What did I tell you about that word?”

“The mental health professional, then,” Eliot replied with a bit of annoyance in his voice.

“‘They’ have more questions about how the heck we manage a ‘supportive and mature’ long-distance relationship than about my problem.”

“You don’t have a problem.” Eliot’s sigh crossed the ocean in a heartbeat. “Maybe a situation, but not a problem. You are healing.”

Those dismissive words hurt like a slap. Quinn had more problems than he could relay into words and that scornful remark stung. Quinn took out his metro card and tried to manage the wave of anger that mounted to his head.

“I have a problem if you don’t want to get into my pants!” Quinn said, noticing how abysmally inept he was at managing his emotions

“Pretty _mature_ ,” Eliot grumbled in his ear as Quinn crossed the busy esplanade in front of Florec station.

“ _Very_ supportive,” Quinn retorted and crossed the glass doors.

This was not going the way Quinn had planned. The speakers announced the next train was about to arrive. Quinn rushed down the electric stairs. He wanted to be home as soon as possible after this botched attempt at communication.

“Hey…” Eliot mumbled in Quinn’s ear. “ _Miluju tě_ …”

“I know,” Quinn groaned. He didn’t want to hear that particular word. It rang empty on his ears. He had to admit that word still had power: “That keeps me going, you know?”

“I hope so…” Eliot’s voice sounded warm. Quinn pictured Eliot’s lazy smile at the sound of those words. “Tell me.”

“You are not going to like it…” Quinn said, because the subway was about to leave, he had to focus on catching it.

“As if that had ever stopped you before.” Eliot made a short pause and Quinn minded the gap. “Tell me, Quinn.”

“They said we need to get busy as soon as possible,” Quinn said and managed to get into the car before the doors closed.

“Seriously?”

“I’m quoting: ‘You and Eliot need to work on your intimacy’.” Quinn held the pole and turned down his voice to a polite whisper.

“That doesn’t mean ‘start fucking’!”

“It does in my book.”

“That’s it!” Eliot’s voice was loud enough that the old lady in front of him darted Quinn a quizzical look. Quinn moved through the car, looking for a less crowded place. “I’m going there to fuck you the only way you don’t want me to!”

“If you are going to be a wet blanket,” Quinn replied coldly, “stay where you are.”

“Try to stop me!”

Quinn groaned and finished the call. As soon as he returned the phone to his pocket, Quinn felt spent, drained, and lonelier than before. He blamed the therapy hangover. Hugging the pole, Quinn took out his little pocketbook from his back pocket. The experience had left him with many emotions and he had half an hour to kill after all.

_\--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--_

The sound woke Quinn up. 

A sound inside his flat was the least pleasant way to wake up Quinn could think of.

He felt his heart throbbing against his throat and his hand flew to the center of his chest to press down as if it could stop the mad race of his sick organ. For a second, Quinn’s mind fixated on his odds against any invader. His odds were not good, but he would be damned if he went back to their hands without a fight. 

Silently, Quinn let go of Fair Prize, rolled off the bed, fell to the floor without a sound, and opened the nightstand drawer. Taped to the bottom of the drawer, his faithful SIG Sauer P365 waited. The compact gun had slipped from Quinn’s mind until then or else he would have— _used it_ —sold it long ago. Quinn retrieved the gun and checked the magazine. Sixteen bullets: Fifteen to fend off the attackers and one more to be sure they never hurt him again. With sweat dripping from his brow, Quinn got up, ready to defend his person.

He walked slowly, pressed to the wall. His kitchen was bright with the sun entering the balcony and bouncing on the fixtures of his cupboards. Quinn’s eyes noticed the bright yellow bags on top of his kitchen counter. The fridge door was open and the cold waft caressed Quinn’s ankles, and Quinn was sure he knew that jeans-clad, pinchable butt next to the door... 

The man who was rummaging his fridge got up without any warning, and Quinn, out of habit, trained the gun to his target with cold precision.

“Put that toy away, Quinn!” Eliot grumbled when he noticed Quinn’s gun pointing at his head.

Eliot _fucking_ Spencer was in his kitchen… just when Quinn thought his morning couldn’t go any worse! Quinn placed the SIG Sauer down on top of the cabinet that hid his washing machine and dryer and walked to the kitchen.

“What are _you_ doing here!”

“I _told_ you I was coming!”

 _You also told me you love me_ , Quinn thought and made an exasperated movement of his shoulders, _and then you dismissed my worries like they didn’t mean a thing!_ The whole scene didn’t make any sense. _Last night I had trouble finding a reason not to jump the damned rail and now you are here, rummaging my fridge and pantry!_ Eliot rolled his eyes at Quinn’s expression and picked up a package of plain white yogurt and a pack of out-of-season berries.

“Quinn, you are too thin,” Eliot remarked as he kept transferring things to the fridge.

 _Yes, I know. Thank you._ Quinn wished to say, but the fact that Eliot noticed Quinn’s weight made him self-conscious and unsure. _I’ve been trying this new diet called being poor!_ He hugged his chest, feeling his ribs with the tips of his cold fingers.

“You need to eat well,” Eliot continued, putting the contents of the grocery bags into Quinn’s almost empty fridge. “You need to rest well. You need to take your medicine, and you need to work out…” Eliot stopped to sweep Quinn with a look of contempt. “There is no other way around it if you want to get hitting again!”

“In case you didn’t notice, pal,” Quinn did his best to hold back the sneer. “All of those things cost cold hard cash. I’d rather pay to have a roof over my head than pay for fancy food.”

“Pfff, money!” Eliot slammed the fridge door and turned around to face Quinn. “That’s not even a problem: I have money to _burn_!”

“Yes! _You_ have it!” Quinn snapped back and lurched forward, getting into Eliot’s space.

Quinn noticed the way Eliot locked his posture to avoid recoiling. Quinn, still angry, looked into Eliot’s face and surveyed each line of his stone-faced expression. Quinn let go of his breath and began to think he should apologize for throwing Eliot’s ill-gotten gains to his face when Eliot’s expression changed. 

“Oh…” Eliot whispered as his eyes went soft and his chin softened.

The way those lips trembled and those eyebrows raised in the middle told the whole story: pity. Quinn pulled back with a staggering step because he realized Eliot was feeling pity and that was the opposite effect Quinn was trying to achieve when he made that call. Fighting the sob, Quinn took a step back and Eliot’s hand brushed his arm. 

“Hey…”

The word that had kept Quinn alive more than one night whirred with disdain and mortification inside Quinn’s aching brain. Quinn couldn’t stand to stay in place. He turned around and went to his room. Tears were threatening to spill, but they had to wait until Quinn could close the door behind his back.

Until he was as alone as he felt.

_\--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--_

The rail was cold, Quinn gripped it with all his might… The cold breeze caressed his naked back and toyed with his long hair. The waistband of his pajamas flapped against his naked belly, but Quinn didn’t feel a chill. His mind was locked on a single, simple thought. 

He could jump. 

This way, he wouldn’t be forced to reckon with his weakness, Eliot wouldn’t be forced to deal with his pitiable state and his early demise would be soon forgotten. 

Quinn gripped the rail, and he felt the strain on his back.

He just needed to press his knee against the reinforced glass, muscle memory would do the rest. He felt the ache on his shoulders as he lifted his weight over the rail, gravity pulling his shoulders and then that fall… the Eternal Fall…

If rumors were true, he would lose conscience before hitting the hard concrete below.

“Hey…” 

The voice caressed his ears as Eliot, passing his warm arm over Quinn’s cold shoulders. A soft kiss landed on his nape and Quinn melted so fast that tears dropped from his eyes. 

The image of his body falling was replaced by Eliot’s distraught face when he was forced to meet Quinn’s mangled body. Oh, the pain he was planning to hit this man with... 

Quinn let go of the rail and covered his face with his shaking hand.

“It’s OK,” Eliot whispered and leaned on Quinn’s back. “I know you are hurting…”

Quinn shook at those words and turned around, letting Eliot wrap him in his arms. His mind had been playing tricks with Quinn again and recognized he was about to give in to temptation this time. And over what to be precise? Over having a boyfriend who was too concerned about him that flew from the other side of the world to fill his pantry?

“I’m a mess…”

“You are allowed to,” Eliot was quick to reply and to rub his hot hands over Quinn’s arms to bring in some warmth. “You have been strong for so long…”

The word hurt but Quinn didn’t rebuke Eliot.

“This is me. I’m a mess,” Quinn mumbled against Eliot’s shirt. “I cry a lot. I’m lonely. I sing show tunes…”

“Out of key, most of the time,” Eliot added and hugged Quinn’s harder. “And that’s charming, but you are not crying about that.” Eliot made a pause before adding in his softest voice: “Help me understand what’s in your mind, Quinn.”

“I’m struggling to make sense of my world,” Quinn said, and he hugged Eliot back. “I’m grieving over my health and my comfort and the perfect life I had before… before...” 

“Before your father betrayed you,” Eliot offered him a sober voice. “Before he tortured you.”

“Before he tried to destroy me.” Quinn held to Eliot. Quinn was used to his betrayal and torture; this time his father tried to kill him. Quinn held his breath in, his pain left his chest with his breath: “I have been thinking about terrible things.”

Eliot didn’t comment, but he held Quinn tighter. Quinn felt the tears running down his cheeks, sure Eliot picked up what he was laying down. 

“I’m trying _hard_ not to act on those thoughts.”

“I reckon you’re exhausted,” Eliot said, cradling Quinn’s head with his hand.

That might be a worthy candidate for the understatement of the year, but Quinn was not about to argue. He was tired like never before in his life, and he finally felt safe.

“It’s cold. Let’s go inside,” Eliot said, pulling Quinn into his room. “You’re going to get sick…”

 _I never felt better_ … Quinn thought but presented no resistance. To be pulled away from the brink of the abyss must be the best feeling in the world. Eliot’s warm embrace and his soothing voice delivered a tingle of comfort Quinn had been missing in the last months.

_\--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--_

Quinn woke up, his belly still warm and heavy from that noodle and vegetable soup Eliot insisted on feeding him. The daylight was dim, he might have slept for three or four hours.

Eliot, who probably hadn’t slept during the flight, was laying on his side on Quinn’s rumpled bed, next to Quinn. Quinn cuddled him with Fair Prize there to support his back. Eliot’s smell was as wonderful as ever and his deep breaths rocked Quinn to a peaceful lull. This was all Quinn asked from life at the moment. More than this would be greed.

Eliot stirred a bit later and kissed Quinn’s arm by way of hello. 

“Are you awake, _drahoušku_?” Quinn mumbled, a bit groggy because he was about to slip down dreamland. “Don’t answer. Just let me know.”

Eliot caressed Quinn’s arm and the touch sent an electric thrill through Quinn’s skin.

“I need to tell you something. Please, hear me out,” Quinn said and looked for Eliot’s hand. Eliot spared him the search. “I have trained my brain wrong even before this thing I’m fighting now.” Eliot kissed Quinn’s fingers. “I’m unsure of myself, I need you to help me to be strong.”

Eliot tried to get up, but Quinn pressed his body against the bed to keep his boyfriend down. Slowly, he approached his mouth to Eliot’s ear.

“I know I can count on you, but I need to know you still _burn_ for me,” Quinn declared with his most menacing voice. “I’m not broken beyond repair: I need sex in my life. It might be because my brain is twisted or because I’m sad, but sex is important to me.” Quinn took out his hand, swallowed back the self-pity that mounted to his mouth. _I'm not broken, I’m not tainted_ … “I rather have my satisfaction with you, but if you don’t want my body, tell me,” Quinn said and leaned back. “It doesn’t feel too much to ask for.”

Eliot took a long time to move, but he eventually sat on the bed and turned to look at Quinn. Quinn looked right into Eliot’s eyes. Quinn didn’t have Randy’s skill, but Eliot squirmed in place.

“Do me a favor,” Eliot finally said and leaned forward. Quinn let him place a kiss on his brow. “Spruce up, put on one of your dapper suits, and come with me to eat out.”

Quinn sat on the bed, unconvinced. Going out was not appealing at the moment.

“I promise to answer as soon as you cross the door,” Eliot insisted and got up from the bed. 

Quinn sighed and extended his hand to the notebook on the nightstand. Eliot gave Quinn a strange look, but he didn’t comment. Quinn scoffed— _You meditate: I journal, so keep your judgmental looks to yourself, pal_...—and put down the ideas that came to his mind. 

He had a lot to process.

_\--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--_

They took the red line to Vinohrady. Eliot leaning on Quinn in that packed train car made the quarter of an hour ride something to think of when bad ideas come to his mind. Eliot, leafing through a folder one of the building’s concierges—Dalimil was not on call, _alas!_ — had handed him, spent this time musing almost poetically about the sirloin dish with cream they had the last time. Quinn could almost see the mechanism of his brain grinding on the recipe. Quinn could write it down for him, but that would spoil the fun Eliot extracts from braining his way through the flavors and textures. 

They hopped off on Pavlov station, and Eliot was quick to take Quinn’s hand after placing his folder in his back pocket. He didn’t make a great declaration, he didn’t even look at Quinn. Eliot walked next to Quinn, holding his hand, pretending to be completely absorbed by the architecture on their way to the restaurant inside a courtyard they discovered by chance last December. Quinn didn’t mind, it was good to feel Eliot’s hand inside his. 

Quinn didn’t remember what set Eliot’s off, but he began to rant about something or other, probably he was just venting his frustration. Quinn only got that his boyfriend had to be in Germany the next day. It was too much to ask to have Eliot cuddling him for a week.

“Hey…” Eliot mumbled, probably because he noticed Quinn’s disappointment. “I have businesses in Europe. I’ll be around.”

Those words didn’t soothe Quinn’s soul, but Eliot holding the lapels of his jacket and stealing a kiss worked wonders for his mood. They walked in and found an empty table. A college girl walked right behind them, it must be a slow night. 

“ _Dám si prosím svíčková na smetaně_ ….” Quinn placed their order with the ease of the old days. He barely looked at the menu the girl placed in front of him, “ _a guláš s knedlíkem, prosím._ ” 

“ _Samozřejmě!_ ” She replied with a smile, picking up the menu.

“ _A taky pivo!_ ” Eliot said and flipped a coaster on the table.

“ _Mohu poprosit dvě pivo?_ ” Quinn asked with a half-mortified smile. The server nodded a bit confused by Eliot’s participation, she might have noticed they were speaking English on their way in. _“Děkuji._ ”

“ _Čochtan, prosím_ ,” Eliot added with a beatific smile despite the look that cute server gave him.

“So you have been learning.”

“I’m trying,” Eliot admitted and put his folder on the table. “It’s easy when you want something.”

Eliot looked at Quinn from the other side of the table with an amicable, hopeful expression and Quinn knew right then that beer was not what Eliot wanted. To distract his mind, Quinn picked up Eliot’s folder.

“What’s this?” Quinn asked, and composed his old smile. “I noticed my concierge handed it to you.”

“It’s a work I can’t take care of at the moment,” Eliot replied with careless disregard. “Surveillance of a subject. Four figures plus expenses. Easy work but time-consuming.” 

“May I?” Quinn asked because ‘work’ and ‘easy’ were right down his alley at the moment.

Eliot nodded with a smile. The cute server put a foamless beer in front of Eliot, but she served Quinn a regular _hladinka_. Eliot sipped the beer and kept his silence as Quinn read through the contract’s pages. 

The work was a simple stakeout in Prague with rigorous demands about tracing, photo and video proof, and daily reporting. Quinn’s mind, geared to think about hard cash, disregarded the detail. He could pay some of his late fees and keep food in the pantry if he took this job… in Prague 4, stalking the guy on the twenty-four story…

“I don’t want your charity,” Quinn said, laying the folder on the table.

“It’s not charity: it’s a job,” Eliot sat straight and looked at Quinn dead in the eye. “And I mean it. If you don’t take it, I’ll turn it to someone else.” Eliot sipped his beer. “I think I can call Mikel Dayan. Rumor has it that you messed up with one of her jobs. She’ll pounce at the chance to annoy the living lights out of you.”

The cute server placed their dishes with a hurried _dobrou chuť_ and scurried away. That was a smart gall. Almost as smart as Quinn who can tell when someone had him by the balls.

“This is blackmail.”

“I know,” Eliot admitted and took another sip, “I learned from Randy”. 

Quinn sighed and took his pocketbook from his jacket. Another thing to ponder about before his next appointment with Saša.


	2. Chapter 2

“I burn for you…” Eliot whispered behind Quinn’s back as soon as the door opened.

They didn’t bother with the light, with a kiss, with a glance. Untying his tie, Quinn walked to his bedroom; Eliot was already peeling his shirt from his back. Quinn didn’t need to turn around, his ears picked the sound of Eliot’s socks sliding off his feet, the slow metal clink of his zipper... 

“Keep your undershirt on,” Eliot demanded as his jeans hit the floor.

Eliot tossed his shirt on the floor and waited until Quinn took out his suit and shirt. Quinn’s movements were slow, Eliot’s words were still ringing in his ears. Quinn just nodded and put his suit on the hanger, then he walked to the bed. Eliot had one foot resting on the padded side rail of Quinn’s platform bed; the proof of his unmistakable desire was visible through his navy blue boxer briefs. 

Quinn sat next to Eliot and waited.

“We need to take it slow,” Eliot finally said, before touching Quinn’s shoulder. “We can’t count on your…”

“Shut the fuck _UP_!” Quinn mumbled, spurred by the shock that soft touch delivered to his core.

Eliot was not ready for Quinn’s weight pushing him down on that soft bed. His lips were not ready for the hungry kiss he got. He was far from ready for Quinn’s hands messing with his hair… 

The best thing about Eliot Spencer was that he was always ready to get with the program. Eliot’s hands got to work under Quinn’s undershirt. His hard hands rubbing Quinn’s chest made sure that, if Quinn wasn’t hard before, he was now. 

They kissed… They kissed and caressed each other. Quinn drank Eliot’s taste straight from his mouth and his head became light. Eliot’s hands cupped Quinn’s backside and rolled to his side, pinning Quinn against the mattress. For a second, their cocks rubbed through the layers of fabric and Quinn shivered and a hungry moan escaped his quivering lips.

“Mind your heart…” Eliot grumbled and pushed his hip against Quinn’s again.

Quinn’s heart was the least of his troubles. His mind was consumed by a singular thought: how to get more friction from Eliot’s back and forth. Eliot’s hand made Quinn’s spine arch with a sure push on the small of his back. Quinn, feeling boneless, let him peel the undershirt from his torso. Eliot poured a string of kisses on Quinn’s chest, grinding his hard-on against Quinn’s trembling flesh.

“Tell me if I should go slower…” Eliot instructed between kisses, cradling Quinn’s head.

Quinn nodded and pulled his legs up and set his feet against Eliot’s tights. Eliot took the hint and let Quinn push his legs toward the padded rail of Quinn’s expensive platform bed. When Quinn locked his legs around Eliot’s waist, Eliot moaned and Quinn almost melted at the sensation. He rocked under Eliot’s élan, feeling the caress of his wet trunk’s fabric rubbing his cock against Eliot’s hard flesh…

“I’m feeling my heartbeat…” Quinn gasped after a while. 

Eliot took a deep breath, held Quinn in his arms, and kissed Quinn again. Quinn tried to grind his cock a bit more, but Eliot made the usual soothing sounds and laid his weight on top of Quinn. Quinn held him back and they breathed together.

“Bet it feels even better if we go commando,” Eliot suggested and kissed Quinn’s eyelids.

“That would be a safe bet,” Quinn agreed and held Eliot’s chin to kiss the stubble. 

The tickling of those short bristles turned Quinn into a mess of delighted shivers. Eliot dragged his scratchy face over Quinn’s chest as he kissed his way down, rubbing Quinn’s side with his hands and hair. Quinn arched when Eliot’s hands prompted him to. His wet trunks slid down Quinn’s legs and Eliot stared down at him.

Even in the dim light of the city below them, Quinn could read that expression: those half-veiled eyes, those flared nostrils, those parted lips, and those eyebrows raising slowly... Eliot was lusting after Quinn.

“We need some things before we can continue,” Eliot said in a whisper and leaned toward Quinn to kiss him on the lips. “Keep your happy thoughts…”

Quinn began to catastrophize when Eliot left the room, but he noticed Fair Prize, sitting in the middle of the bed with his head slightly tilted as if he was struggling to comprehend the whole situation. Quinn crawled to the pillows and snatched Fair Prize. With care, he placed it against the bed but pointed Fair Prize’s head toward the panoramic window. Eliot and Quinn were going to need the whole bed. Quinn barely had time to lay his weight against the pillows to face Eliot with a hint of a smile.

“Take your pills,” Eliot advised and passed Quinn one of his water bottles full to the brim.

“My medicine is not an aphrodisiac,” Quinn protested with a tired sigh.

“Have you read the booklet?” Eliot insisted with a big smile on his way to Quinn’s toy chest. “I’m going to scratch a half-year itch with you tonight,” Eliot explained and crouched at the feet of the bed to lift Quinn’s repurposed blanket chest’s lid. “If I have it my way, you won’t remember your name, let alone your medicine. Besides,” Eliot added while rummaging the interior of the chest, “your heart behaves better when you are properly hydrated.”

Quinn had a lot to process, but he couldn’t argue against Eliot’s solid logic. He moved to the side of the bed and picked up the bottle. Three pills went down his gullet with half of the content of his water bottle before Eliot got up and let the lid fall.

“Move aside,” Eliot commanded with a small movement of the head, tossing condoms, silicone lube, and an old sleeve Quinn had discontinued years ago.

“No way!” Quinn protested and got up.

“Quinn!” Eliot called out. “You are ruining the mood!”

“You are ruining my mood with that lube!” Quinn replied as he moved to the cupboard in his pole room. “That lube stains and I can’t replace my bedding set right now!”

“Fine!” Eliot grumbled, but Quinn noticed he was stripping his bed from the comforter. 

Quinn returned with an old thick flannel sheet he kept for these situations. Eliot was waiting with a cross expression and the offending lube in his hand. Quinn disregarded the expression and unfurled the flannel over his nice sheets, he climbed up to make sure the pillows were properly protected and then looked at Eliot with a stern expression.

“You must be this naked to ride,” Quinn directed, pointing at his now flaccid penis.

Eliot looked at Quinn for a second, blinked, and, finally, let out a peal of laughter. Quinn watched as he hooked his thumbs on the band of his briefs and pulled them down slowly. As the fabric bunched, Quinn noticed Eliot’s protests about ruining his mood were blatantly untrue. Without asking for an invitation, Eliot kicked his wet briefs aside and climbed to the bed. 

Quinn wrapped his arms around Eliot’s neck as soon as he got within his grasp. Eliot searched for Quinn’s mouth and his hand caressed Quinn’s back.

“We’ll go slow,” Eliot said with a satisfied sigh once he broke the kiss, “we’ll hear your body and rest often…”

“Agreed,” Quinn mumbled, trying to get back to the kiss.

“Patience,” Eliot admonished and pushed Quinn down to make him rest on the pillows. “We are having an inappropriate workplace relationship, don’t you know? You are my employee now.”

“I’m a proud employee of Leverage International.” Quinn declared and presented no resistance when Eliot adjusted his position. ”Not yours.”

“Same difference,” Eliot rebuked and took the bottle of lube. “I’m allowed to give you some perks and bonuses,” Eliot poured a good measure of lube on Quinn’s hardening flesh, “if you are good to me, I can add you to the roster of some of our jobs…”

“What’s in for me?” Quinn asked and enjoyed the sensation of the slippery substance pooling on top of his skin.

“Travel, for once,” Eliot replied and took a condom. “Some pocket money and…”

“If I’m good to you?” Quinn insisted while Eliot struggled with the golden wrapper. “Personally?”

“How much do you like the idea of a bit of pampering?” Eliot asked and gripped Quinn’s cock, “Nice dinners? Maybe a show?”

“What do I have to _suck_ in return?” Quinn asked and closed his eyes, letting Eliot unroll the condom over his cock.

“It’s not that easy,” Eliot taunted and rubbed Quinn’s shaft to check the condom was correctly placed. “If you were to enjoy all that pampering, you will need to work your job extra hard…”

“I’m hard.”

“I noticed,” Eliot replied and nuzzled Quinn.

“I’m a hard worker,” Quinn corrected himself with a smile, “mister Spencer, sir.”

“Atta boy,” Eliot praised and extended his hand toward the sleeve. “Now, let me work and show some patience.”

Eliot leaned forward and Quinn could read the kiss from a mile away. The kiss was sweet, slow, and deep. Quinn felt his back arching and Eliot caressed his chest with a hand wet with silicone. Eliot’s touch was so soft that it brought a sweet shiver right to his crotch. When Eliot finished the kiss he went for Quinn’s throat and a loud moan escaped from Quinn’s lips.

Quinn was often praised for his silence inside and outside the bed, but Eliot Spencer knew how to play him. In Eliot’s hands, Quinn was always as loud as a cathedral organ. Like any good musician, Eliot knew when to stop to check his performance and his satisfied smile found its reflection on Quinn’s. Before Quinn could quip, Eliot kissed him again and passed his arm behind Quinn’s back when he rushed to that kiss.

They were still kissing when Quinn felt the warm embrace of the toy around his cock. Quinn whimpered and Eliot let him make noise. Eliot increased the pressure around the sleeve and Quinn could feel the harder bits of plastic against his shaft and the pull of the end of the sleeve against his glans. The warm and tight strain against his pulsating made Quinn moan. The toy never felt as good as this when he was playing alone!

Like any virtuoso in the middle of a performance, Eliot changed the rhythm and let his fingers roam over Quinn’s ribs while he nibbled Quinn’s nipples. Quinn was trying hard not to howl his appreciation and Eliot squeezed the sleeve again.

Quinn bucked against Eliot’s hand. To calm him down, Eliot leaned forward again and devoted some delicious minutes to Quinn’s mouth. His hand worked the toy with care, without hurry. Eliot twisted the sleeve, squeezed and released it in the most wonderful fashion. Quinn tried to focus but his hand slid off Eliot’s back and he began to mutter… Muttering in foreign languages always staves off his climax.

Eliot held the squeeze for a second and paid attention to Quinn’s mumbling. Quinn was lightheaded and had trouble focusing on Eliot’s wide grin.

“What?” Quinn gasped. His heart was tumbling against his ribs.

“I like when you talk during sex,” Eliot commented and caressed Quinn’s cock with care. “Equal parts hot and funny.”

Quinn tried to hide his face but Eliot extended his hand and cupped Quinn’s cheek.

“Hey,” Eliot whispered and placed a soft kiss on Quinn’s lips. “I said I like it.” 

Quinn hugged Eliot and he felt the way Eliot melted against him. His weight, his smell, his hard-on… Quinn had missed all of that. He brought his right hand to Eliot’s nape and rubbed his hand flat against his own belly. Slick with silicone, Quinn looked for Eliot’s cock and got as good a grip he could. Eliot groaned his pleasure against Quinn’s ear. Quinn pulled, rubbed, and caressed like that cock was his, and Eliot sang a lustful serenade into his ears. 

“ _Miluju tě_ ,” Eliot mumbled on Quinn’s ears and lifted his head to look into Quinn’s eyes.

Quinn shivered with the strange pleasure those words brought to him. Eliot’s blue eyes looked at him with adoration and he felt unworthy but incommensurable elated to hear it from his lips.

“ _Já také, drahoušku_ ,” Quinn said back, using his right hand to caress the stubble of Eliot’s chin. “ _Miluju tě_.”

They breathed together and caressed each other at leisure. Quinn mumbled something in Russian, Eliot laughed. They kept looking into each other’s eyes, their whole world condensed in a lustful gaze. 

Without consulting, Quinn hooked his left leg on Eliot’s hip. Eliot used his free hand to lift Quinn from the bed. The movement was liquid, perfect. Quinn landed on Eliot’s lap and the sleeve was promptly thrown to the other side of the room. Eliot held both of their cocks together with one hand and encouraged Quinn to bounce with his other hand under Quinn’s ass. Quinn planted his knees on the mattress and closed his hand over Eliot’s before he began to hump. 

Quinn lost himself in Eliot’s eyes as he plunged into the search of their mutual pleasure. 

_\--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--/\/--_

Sunlight bathed his bed mercilessly. Quinn blinked, confused before he noticed Fair Prize was between his arms. The clock on his nightstand showed him he had slept beyond nine in the morning. He extended his hands, the sides of his bed were cold. Eliot had gone away a long time ago, like a fever dream, one that had left Quinn boneless, tired, and aching in several spots.

Smiling at the many aches of a night in Eliot Spencer’s capable hands, Quinn sat on the bed and looked around. Eliot’s discarded briefs were still on the floor; one of the guest towels laid flat on the rail of the balcony, and Quinn was sure he would find that one of Eliot’s shirts was missing from his drawer. 

Quinn extended his hand toward the pills and noticed how cold the vase was. With a deep breath, Quinn turned his eyes to the night table.

Of course, typical Eliot…

There was a new bouquet inside Quinn’s nice vase. Twelve long-stemmed barely open roses were prettily, yet messily, arranged. The flower food was still trying to dissolve in the bottom. Not red roses―love and romance were too much to ask for―not yellow roses―friendship and joy were a given for Eliot’s wishes―but orange. Twelve new roses that screamed desire and admiration greeted Quinn and sent him Eliot’s last message. 

Quinn pushed the pills inside his mouth with a shaky hand. After a sip of water, he opened his journal and wrote some notes. There was a lot to process… He filled a couple of pages, underlining a couple of ideas, and then he stopped with his pen in the air.

Sun shone on the rail of his balcony. The towel flapped on the breeze. It was a glorious day; everything was perfect…

He could get up, hold the rail… jump the rail…

It could be an accident.

Eliot would have a last night to remember...

He wouldn’t have to worry about his father’s plans…

Eliot wouldn’t have to...

Quinn closed his eyes and hugged Fair Prize. His heart was beating hard, his blood rushed on his ears, and panic set out inside his hurting gut. Quinn opened his mental photo album and tried to get back in time, to Randy’s house, to Eliot, under the star quilt, and his mind went blank. Quinn pulled his legs in and felt his face contorting with the effort. The powwow was gone, the carnival, that hidden fishing spot, Eliot’s blue eyes while Quinn was jerking him off… he couldn’t bring anything to his mind.

The miner’s canary was dead.

Quinn opened his eyes. The glass door was closed, the towel was sliding down and he knew better than to get up and walk there to stop it from falling. Instead, he let go of Fair Prize just for the three seconds he needed to take his phone. A couple of messages alerts demanded his attention, but Quinn disregarded them. The hour… it was past midday.

Speed dialing was a blessing. Quinn held to Fair Prize as if his life depended on it. The call took a long time to connect.

“ _Yes. Good morning_ ,” Quinn replied to the greeting of the receptionist without thinking. “ _I need to book an appointment with Dr. Hubáček. Quinn, Antonín_.” He could feel the tears filling his eyes the whole time the receptionist spoke into his ear. “ _As soon as possible_.” The receptionist tried to divert him to his usual appointment. Tomorrow was an eternity too late. “ _I’m afraid I’ll harm myself_ …”

He had said the words, he had put the plan in motion. The voice in the phone changed, one of Saša’s colleagues picked up the call and talked to Quinn until he was calm enough to dress up, gather a bag and Fair Prize, and move to the elevator. Quinn couldn’t stay in his apartment tonight, it was not safe.

The doors closed and the elevator descended. Quinn consulted the messages, Eliot was wondering about how Quinn began his day. Quinn’s lips curved in a sad smile. He pressed the microphone button and recorded a message. 

“Hey. I won’t be able to report tonight. I… I’m… I’m working hard on my therapy.”

The elevator bounced when it arrived in the lobby. Quinn adjusted the bag on his shoulder and his teddy bear against his hip and began to walk as soon as the doors parted. He turned right and kept his eyes locked on the glass door, that way he wouldn’t have the temptation to explain the bag or the bear. It was part of the plan; they couldn’t risk him to dismiss the issue only to fall back without a net. 

The yellow taxi waited for him. Out of habit, Quinn took note of the name and the register before climbing up and closing the door. The car moved after confirming their destination. Quinn had agreed to spend the night at a small clinic each time he felt overwhelmed. Quinn would be safe, surrounded by people who understand the risk. Saša will visit him, they will have a session and will reassess the path this therapy plan was going. Quinn held Fair Prize in his lap and the buildings blurred in front of the window.

Expenses, he could take care of that later. Eliot’s plans of having a torrid office romance will have to wait. Even Quinn’s need to rekindle his sex life will take the back seat. He had to find why, when everything was going his way, he had this irresistible, awful urge to destroy himself.

“Your phone is ringing,” the taxi driver said when they stopped in front of the red light.

Quinn was aware. The phone had been vibrating against his leg for the last… Who knows how long. The sound was his exercise alarm. Out of courtesy, Quinn checked the phone. 

“Acknowledged.” Eliot wrote from Berlin in a string of single-line messages. “Keep up the good work. Work hard. I’m four hours away. Less if I get a car. Ring if you need something. I’ll be there.”

Using Fair Prize to support his phone, Quinn tried to text back. Typing a message was the first choice because Quinn felt reservations about pouring out his heart with the driver at arm's length. His fingers and his brain refused to make a connection: Quinn had to delete the message when it turned out in Hungarian. The need to comfort Eliot drove Quinn to the edge of a crying fit and the driver cast him a concerned look.

“This won’t last,” Eliot texted again. “You are too stubborn to let it last. You’ll feel better. I’ll be there. You’ll be your usual wisecracking self soon enough, and even if you won’t. I’ll be there.”

The screen informed Quinn that Eliot was writing. Then he stopped. Then he started again. The cycle repeated five or six times. The idea of Eliot growing increasingly frustrated with each attempt canceled the crying fit. 

“ _Miluju tě_ ,” Quinn volunteered when he understood Eliot had never seen the word in writing. 

“Yeah,” Eliot confirmed Quinn’s suspicions. “ _Miluju tě_.”

Quinn nodded, put his phone in his pocket, and looked through the windshield. Somehow, he was sure now that there was someone watching his back and he felt safer.

**Author's Note:**

> Krajka is the Czech word for embroidery work.
> 
> I still have this habit I learned from my youth: you can either mend and look at the ugly stitches or you can embroid the gap and enjoy the transformation. If you can't hide it, flaunt it!


End file.
